


Butterfly

by thebadwolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Has Low Self-Esteem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebadwolf/pseuds/thebadwolf
Summary: Sherlock is struggling with an eating disorder he is desperate to hide.





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock didn’t need to eat as much as everyone else. He’d been that way since he was a teenager. At the lunch table, his classmates would eat away at their lunch without a care in the world. Young Sherlock would simply pick at his food.

It would worry his mother to no end. He always seemed to be underweight. She always made sure that he had healthy meals and would try to fix him what he wanted. His weight was never low enough to get the doctors involved but it was noticeable. 

By the time he was sixteen, his mother was forcing him to sit and eat dinner with her. Sherlock hated it. He didn’t see the point in eating if he wasn’t hungry. Why did human beings eat when they weren’t hungry?

Sherlock knew deep down he wasn’t happy with the way he looked. He was on the taller side so whenever he was a “healthy” weight it seemed like such a high number. He liked it when he was thin and his cheekbones were visible. If he ate the food he would end up gaining weight. So that just made it dumber to eat when he wasn’t even hungry.

He remembered the first time he had made himself vomit after a rather heavily dinner. His eyes and throat had burnt like they were on fire. Yet, it was worth it. He wouldn’t have to keep down the food his mother had forced him to eat. That food wouldn’t make him gain weight.

As he grew he hated what eating did to him more and more. It slowed his mind down. It made him tired and dumpy feeling. He ate when he was hungry. He could deal with that feeling when he was hungry. Wasn’t that enough?

He was so happy when he moved out. That meant he didn’t have to eat. It meant he didn’t have to put himself through the pain of making himself vomit. If anyone knew about his purging they never let on to it. 

Once he met John it became his job to worry about his eating habits. He was always after Sherlock to eat more. Having Rosie around helped a bit since they tried to have scheduled meals. Sherlock would always eat a bit but rarely a full plate.

Whenever he had a case he would push food away until he had solved it. It was nearly impossible to think when his body was digesting food. It didn’t make John very happy but normally he went along with it. 

If the case went on for too many days John would intervene and insist he at least eat some milk and toast. 

Sherlock had been on a very interesting case involving the attempted murder of several children. Much to Sherlock’s annoyance, the case was taking some time. It had been nearly two weeks!

He had managed to go that entire time with very little food. He’d mostly been living on coffee. John had made him breakfast a few times before he left for work. Sherlock would push a few forkfuls into his mouth to make his roommate happy. As soon as John was out of sight Sherlock would spit it in the trash. 

Hiding his restriction from John was possible with a bit of hard work. 

As the two-week mark neared the good doctor decided to force a little food into his friend. John didn’t have to work that morning, so the three of them had eaten breakfast together before dropping little Rosie off with Mrs. Hudson. 

Sherlock needed to get rid of the food inside of his stomach. How was he supposed to solve a case with food digesting in his stomach? 

Could he throw his food back up? It was something he had promised himself he would never do again. He knew how dangerous it was for him to do.

Sherlock hadn’t done it in so long but it seemed like it was the only choice he had. 

He knew he couldn’t do at the flat. John would hear him for sure. It would have to wait until they got to Scotland Yard. 

As they stepped inside Sherlock made his excuses and slipped off to the restroom. He made sure he was the only one in there before stepping into a stall. 

The detective fell to his knees in front of the toilet. His heart began to race as he lifted the seat. Sherlock took a deep breath before opening his mouth. He slipped his finger down his throat and rubbed it against the back of his throat. 

Sherlock gagged several times. Frustration built in him as he simply dry heaved. He was almost ready to give up when he felt it. 

The feeling of fire spread throughout his throat and his face. His breakfast quickly came up. He cleaned his fingers and face with a piece of toilet paper before flushing the toilet.

It was done. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to do it ever again. 

He was about ready to stand up when he heard someone knocking on the stall door. 

“Are you alright?” came Anderson’s voice.

Sherlock froze at the sound of his voice. He hadn’t heard him come in! 

“Yes,” Sherlock said standing up. “Touch of the flu I suppose.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Anderson said. “A few people are out with it this week.”

The sound of another stall door opening filled his ears. The sound of metal sounded loud in the quiet bathroom. It reminded him of where he was. It reminded him of what he was doing. 

Sherlock opened the stall and walked out. He didn’t know what to do. He knew Anderson would tell John was sick. After all, he was his doctor and friend. That was something he couldn’t allow to happen. If John found out about this he would never let it go.

“Can we keep this between us?” Sherlock asked turning on the sink. 

“You don’t want me to tell John?” Anderson called. “Why?”

“We need to solve this case,” the taller man said squirting some soap onto his hands. “He’ll make me stay home and rest if he finds out I’m sick.”

Anderson would believe that lie.

“Alright,” Anderson said. “I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said simply walking out of the bathroom.

At least that was handled.


	2. Chapter 2

The case was solved. Two weeks of hard work and a guilty man was behind bars. 

John was delighted to see it solved. He knew Sherlock wasn’t eating enough due to the case. Some time off work would do him some good. He was starting to look a bit sick. 

There was a bit of celebration going on at Scotland Yard. It had been a long case and without Sherlock, it wouldn’t have been solved. Of course, Sherlock didn’t seem overly thrilled. Solving the case never gave him the same joy as the chase did. He would give himself a few days off and then actively start to look for another case. 

The good doctor was helping himself to a donut when Anderson approached him. He grabbed the man by the arm and gently drug him off to the side. He glanced over his shoulder a few times as if he was checking for someone.

“What’s wrong with you?” John said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m worried about Sherlock,” he said, lowering his voice. “When he came in this morning I saw him head to the bathroom. I needed to talk to him about the case so I followed him.”

John looked at his friend with a curious look. He couldn’t imagine what had him in such a fit. Ever since Sherlock had come back Anderson had done everything to make things good with them. 

“He was in there being sick,” Anderson explained. “When he realized I was in there he started acting strange. He about begged me not to tell you.”

John frowned at those words. He didn’t understand why Sherlock would hide something like that from him. Sherlock wasn’t the type to throw up or even get sick. If he was then there was something seriously wrong with him.

“I don’t believe he’s sick,” Anderson said. “It sounded to me like he was...forcing it.”

Forcing it? Making himself sick? 

John couldn’t imagine that. That didn’t sound like his friend at all. Of course, he knew Sherlock had unusual habits when it came to food. The doctor always found it alarming that Sherlock would go so long without eating while on cases. 

“Thanks,” John said. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

Anderson thanked him and headed off to join his co-workers. John frowned shaking his head. There was something he was going to have to do a little research into. If Sherlock was making himself sick on purpose then it had to be dealt with.

\--

John didn’t know what to say or do. Sherlock seemed fine to him. He didn’t seem sick. When they returned to the flat he began to feed Rosie her lunch while watching the news. 

He was a doctor and he needed to remember that. Part of him just wanted to push it aside as a fluke but he knew he couldn't. If someone came into his office concerned that a loved one was showing warning signs of an eating disorder he would address it. He wouldn’t tell them to ignore it.

What if he was wrong? What if Anderson had just misunderstood the situation? Sherlock might laugh at him for even thinking such a thing. Oh well, it was a risk he was going to have to take. 

He decided to wait until Sherlock was done feeding Rosie. John sat down on the couch and picked up a novel he was reading. He looked at the words on the page but he didn’t read them. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about Sherlock. 

Bulimia. Anorexia b/p subtype. ENDOS. 

Everything term he had been taught in medical school flew through his mind.

“Good book?” Sherlock asked walking across the living room a few minutes later with Rosie.

He placed the fed child in her playpen. The child gave a cry of delight as she began to play with her toys.

“I suppose,” John said snapping out of his thoughts.

“Try flipping the book the right way,” Sherlock said sitting down in his chair. “Might be better.”

John sighed setting the book on the coffee table. Sherlock was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

Doctor mode. He needed to be a doctor right now.

“What happened this morning?” he questioned.

“We solved a very interesting case,” Sherlock said with a chuckle. “What’s got you in such a fit?”

“I know you were throwing up,” John said.

Be in charge. He's just another patient. 

“Anderson,” the detective said with a snort. “I knew he would tell you.”

“What was going on?” the doctor said. 

Simple questions. 

“I was ill,” the taller man said sounding a bit annoyed. “I guess the case has been rather stressful on me.”

“Are you sure?” John asked.

Give him an out. John didn’t believe him for a second. He sounded too tense and he was being rather short with him.

Sherlock sighed looked down at his hands. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t explain it. There was no way he could admit that he had forced himself to throw up.

He didn’t have an eating disorder. Eating disorders were for teen girls.

Not him. Never him.

“Sherlock,” John said softly. “If you’d rather speak to someone else that’s fine. I just think-”

Sherlock jumped to his feet and started for the kitchen. He wasn’t having this conversation. John stopped speaking as soon as Sherlock started walking. He didn’t want to scare him off. He needed Sherlock to understand he could trust him.

The detective stopped when he reached the kitchen table. He kept his back to the doctor. John could see the tension in shoulders. 

“I was stressed from the case,” Sherlock explained. “I was tired and overworked. I’m going to take a much-needed nap.”

John took a deep breath as Sherlock walked away. Suddenly, he started to feel rather stupid. He had jumped to conclusions. Sherlock did have unhealthy eating habits but that didn’t mean he had an eating disorder. Lots of people made bad choices when it came to food. 

Yet, something was clawing at the back of his brain. He had hit a nerve when he brought up his vomiting with Sherlock. There was something there and he was going to figure out what it was.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock knew he had a food-related problem. It wasn’t normal for a person to have a panic attack every time they saw food. Sometimes eating didn’t bother him at all. He could go days and even weeks without becoming worked up by the thought of food. Other times food consumed his thoughts every second of every day. It was every pea. Every carrot. 

So what he was supposed to do? 

He had made it this far in life without dealing with his problem. Why mess with what was working? Was it even something he could fix? 

The consulting detective did his best to dismiss the thoughts as he scrolled through his email. He needed to find another case. It’d been a week since he’d finished his latest murder case. He’d had a few nights sleep and some good meals. It was time to go back to work.

Well, it would be time for work if he could find a job worth doing. He didn't care how desperate he was for a case. There was no way he was going to waste his time and skill on a dumb case. 

Sherlock snapped his laptop shut with a frustrated grunt. Damn Anderson. His brain wouldn’t be so twisted if it hadn’t been for him. He could live with his problem on his own but Anderson had drug John into this. Of course, John was worried about his mental and physical health. 

Was it right to lie to John and let him worry about him? Wouldn’t he be more worried if he told him the truth? Was the truth even? 

Sherlock knew John was going to be watching his eating habits much closer after what he heard from Anderson. He didn’t have a case to blame for not eating so he didn’t really have any excuses. 

His mind was an utter mess. He hadn’t felt the urge to vomit in years and now it was eating away at his brain. After only giving in to his urge one time it was threatening to take over him again. He didn’t dare vomit up his meals when John was home but he did throw up a few times when John was at work. 

There was no way he could let it go on. It couldn’t start happening again. There was no way his mind and body could handle it.

It has already started again, his mind screamed at him.

This was something that he needed to keep under control. 

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson called. “You have a client here.”

“Show them up,” Sherlock said feeling a wave of excitement. 

Perhaps this would take his mind off things for a while. Maybe it would give him an excuse not to eat.   
\--

Over the next week, John watched Sherlock closely to see if his fears were real. Sherlock seemed to be eating at least one small meal a day. They had eaten take away a few times over the week and Sherlock had enjoyed that.

His friend didn’t rush to the bathroom after they ate and John never overhead him throwing up. Of course, he could have been doing it while he was at work. The doctor couldn’t be there to watch him all the time. 

Maybe Sherlock had been telling the truth. It wasn’t like him to get that stressed during a case but he did have more on his plate. While John was at his job Sherlock was at home taking care of his goddaughter. Even when he was on cases he helped with Rosie. Of course, he never complained. He loved having little Rosie around and she always seemed to put a smile on his face. Maybe she was tiring him out and he didn’t even realize. Perhaps Sherlock hadn’t taken into account that carrying for a child would require him to rest and eat more.

Who was he kidding? Sherlock always took everything into account. Chances were he was just ignoring his body’s needs as usual. 

Guilt overtook John as he walked up to the stairs to their flat. It was clear he was wrong. He and Anderson had jumped to conclusions without any real evidence. He really did owe Sherlock an apology. After all, he had jumped on him pretty hard without any proof.

Disappointment sunk in when he realized Sherlock wasn’t at home. After checking in with Mrs. Hudson he found out his friend was off on a case. Well, at least he wouldn’t be bored when he got home. He would be in a better mood when John apologized to him for his actions. 

__

Sherlock carefully and slowly walked through the house. A woman came to him about her missing son. The police had hit a roadblock and had no idea what to do. In desperation, she had come to his flat in tears. 

Lukas Miles was an eighteen-year-old University student who lived with his mother in London. Before he had gone missing his mother claimed nothing unusual had happened with him. Sherlock hadn’t spoken to his girlfriend yet but Mrs. MIles claimed everything was good between them.

A check of Lukas’ social media revealed a typical teenage boy. There were lots of post about the stress of college, fun nights out, and the angst of living with your parents. Something strange did stand out to Sherlock. It seemed people had developed the strange habit of needing to take pictures of their food before they are it. It seemed Lukas hadn’t taken part in his popular trend. His girlfriend took part in sharing pictures of her food so it seemed strange he didn’t. 

Food? Was that all he could think of?

Sherlock pushed open the teen’s bedroom door. The room looked just as he expected. There was an unmade bed with a few dirty clothes next to it. There were open and closed school books sitting on a desk. A little black notebook sat on his dresser among scraps of papers and a hairbrush. He flipped open the book to find it full of numbers and dates. There was no way of telling what the numbers represented. 

Something about the numbers stood out to him. There was something strangely familiar about them. 

“Mr. Holmes!” Mrs. Miles called. “Luka’s girlfriend is here. I thought you’d want to speak with her.”

“I’ll be right down,” Sherlock said before sliding the book into his pocket. 

He needed to get his mind off food and focus on his work.


	4. Chapter 4

Lukas’ girlfriend Donetta was clearly hiding something but Sherlock wasn’t sure what it was yet. His own brain was swirling with thoughts that he couldn't control. His own problems were making it hard to think and focus on the case. 

Sherlock was riddled with guilt that was taking over him. John had apologized to him for assuming he had an eating disorder without any real evidence. With each word, his friend spoke Sherlock felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Why was John doing this? Was this some kind of trap to make him admit the truth. It didn't seem that way. John really seemed angry with himself. Why was the doctor being so naive?. He had to know he was right. Sherlock had a problem and he needed help. His mind was screaming at him to tell John the truth but he couldn’t force the words out of his lips. 

There was no way Sherlock would admit the truth. John would never think of him the same way if he knew the truth. Sherlock had seen the way the good doctor had reacted when he started to think he had a problem. John’s eyes were full of worry and concern. There was also another emotion showing through those bright colored balls, pity. John felt bad for him. Pity was the last thing Sherlock needed. The mere word made his skin crawl. 

This was his problem to handle. No one else had caused him to have this problem. He had given into the desire to restrict his food intake and to vomit up his meals. This was something he had allowed to happen. His mind was not nearly as strong as he liked to pretend it was. 

There was no way he could allow his friend to look at him that way again. Sherlock did his best to keep up the facade. He worked hard on tracking down Luka while hiding his restricting and vomiting from those around him. Sherlock's focus of attention was the small book he'd found in Luka's room. He had stared at the small book of figures a thousand times and couldn’t recognize anything in the jumble of random numbers. 

“Uh!” Sherlock groaned in frustration tossing the book to the coffee table.

The detective got his feet and walked into the kitchen. He was starving. John was already gone that morning when he awoke so he had been able to skip breakfast. He opened the refrigerator door and stared at the mostly empty shelves. John was due to do the shopping on the way home from work that day.

Luckily there were a few containers of low-fat yogurt sitting on the plastic shelves. Sherlock picked up the container and looked at it. 77 calories. That wasn’t very much. He could allow himself to eat that and still be able to eat dinner when John got home. He fetched a spoon from a drawer before sitting back down on the couch. 

77\. 

That number burned into Sherlock’s brain. Where had he seen that before? It sounded so familiar. He set the unopened container on the coffee table and reached for Luka’s notebook. He opened the book and looked over the pages. The number 77 and others very close to it were repeated over and over. 

Calories! Could it be possible the teenager was tracking his calories? Sherlock quickly picked up his laptop and started researching the other numbers in the book to make sure he was right.

Yes! It finally seemed he had a break in the case.

Sherlock was sure Luka had an eating disorder he had worked hard to hide. His social media was full of hints but nothing that was obvious. The only question Sherlock had was what did this have to do with going missing? If he had checked into a program no doubt he would at least called his mother to let her know he was alright. Luka seemed to really care for his mother. His facebook full of pictures of the two of them together smiling and lots of loving messages to her. Of course, he knew social media profiles could be very misleading but he had met his mother. She really seemed to miss her son. 

Had he simply run away out of shame? Maybe his mother had found out about his problem and he couldn’t face her. His mother hadn’t mentioned him having issues but this wasn’t something you never bring up to a stranger. While Sherlock didn’t have all the details he was sure Luka had left of his own free will and his eating disorder had something to do with it.

A phone call later he was on his way to meet with Donetta at a cafe. She seemed a bit nervous about meeting him but in the end, she had agreed. Sherlock was sure she knew what was going on and he needed her to open up. 

\---

Sherlock’s day hadn’t gone very well. Donetta was still sticking to her story. She claimed Luka had called her the night he went missing and discussed his latest homework assignment. When Sherlock had asked her about his eating habits and current mental health she quickly made her excuses and left. 

To make things worse John had insisted on going out to eat with Lestrade. Sherlock liked him well enough but he wasn’t looking to go out and eat with anyone. Even though John hadn’t put any pressure on him to go he still felt pressured. He didn’t want John to be focused on his eating habits. Maybe if he ate normally John would stop focusing on him.

For the most part, things were fine until about halfway through dinner. Sherlock was nearly done with his plate of chicken when he felt his stomach knot up. 

“So how did that date go?” John asked.

“Not good,” Lestrade explained. “She has two kids and neither of them can stand me.”

“Sasha seemed nice enough,” the doctor said. “Maybe you two should try again.”

“Be right back,” Sherlock said standing up from the table.

Sherlock knew he shouldn’t have eaten that much food. That was the largest amount of food he’d eaten at once in months. He walked down to the bathroom and peeked around the room. There didn’t seem to anyone else in the room. He walked into one of the stalls and closed the lock with shaking hands. 

He knew if John or Lestrade walked in that he would be caught. Sherlock could convince Lestrade he was sick or that something was wrong with the food but there was no chance of that with John. Yet it was a risk he was going to have to take. Sherlock knelt down in front of the toilet and stuck his fingers down his throat. His eyes stung as he began to throw up. 

John frowned as he watched his friend walk away. He knew he needed to trust Sherlock but he was a bit curious. If Sherlock was making himself sick this might be his only chance to catch him. Part of him felt guilty that he was even thinking this about his friend. Yet, he needed to know. If Sherlock wasn’t throwing up then he wouldn’t worry about it again. 

The doctor wasted no time following after him to the bathroom. John put his ear to the door and listened. He could just barely hear the sound of someone gagging. His heart sank as he listened to the noise. He knew he had to catch him in the act. There would be no way for him to deny it. He opened the door as quietly as possible and walked into the room. John walked up to the only closed stall door. He could hear Sherlock throwing up behind the door. The doctor took a deep breath. This had to be done. Sherlock was in there throwing up his dinner. Anderson had been right. He gave a few hard knocks on the metal door. The vomiting noise stopped.

“Sherlock,” John said as softly as he could. “I know what you’re doing. We will talk about this when we get home.”

“Whatever you say, John,” Sherlock answered. 

The doctor shook his head. He had no idea what he was going to do.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock felt like a child again. The way that John was staring at him was the same way his mother had looked at him. His eyes were filled with worry and a bit of anger. The detective sat on the couch and tried to avoid his friend’s gaze. 

“Sherlock,” John said softly. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

What was he supposed to say? Sherlock couldn't tell his friend he had an eating disorder. He'd never even mentioned his eating disorder to John. It was a private matter that he didn’t talk to anyone about. 

The doctor knew this had to be hard for his friend. These kinds of things were never easy to talk about. He sat down on the couch next to him making sure to give him lots of space. He didn’t want him to feel like he was being cornered.

“I’m not here to judge you,” John said. “You need help.”

Help? Sherlock snorted at that word. 

“I’m...I’m worried about you,” John said softly. 

“I don’t need your pity,” Sherlock said standing up.

For some reason, he was full of rage. Who did John think he was? Worrying about him wouldn’t do any good. There was no way he could help him. Why did he think he could fix him? No one could fix him.

“I’m not offering pity,” the doctor pleaded. “I’m offering help.”

“It’s all the same,” Sherlock snarled rushing through the kitchen. 

John was on his feet and after him quickly. He knew he needed to get through to his friend. If Sherlock didn’t open up then things weren’t going to get any better. He ran into his room and slammed the door. 

“Sherlock,” John said as he heard the door lock. “Please open the door.”

Sherlock sat on the bed and curled up against the headboard. He picked up one of his pillows and held it close to his chest. He had no idea what to do. What would John do if he told him the truth? Would he send him away to a treatment center? He shivered at the thought. 

“Go away,” Sherlock said, shaking his head. “Just...Just leave me alone.”

“I know this has to be hard on you,” the doctor said through the door. “I just want you to talk to me.”

Sherlock felt so ashamed of himself. He was hiding in his room like a child. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Nagging at him wasn’t going to help. Would John call Mycroft if he didn’t talk to him? There was no way he could face his brother. Perhaps talking to his friend would be the better choice.

“Please don’t call Mycroft,” Sherlock said, fighting back tears. “I’ll talk to you. I just need an hour. Give me an hour.”

John’s heart broke at the sound of his friend’s voice. He sounded like he was on the edge of tears. He sighed closing his eyes. Sherlock wasn’t asking for much. Giving him an hour to collect himself was a good idea. 

“Of course,” John said, opening his eyes. “Take an hour. If you need anything call me.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything. He buried his face in the pillow as he tried to hide from the world. He’d never felt so alone in his life. Everyone was going to find out about this. There was no way he could handle the shame. Everyone would try to “help” him but they would just make it worse.

Of course, he knew he needed help. His disease was really starting to hurt his body. Sherlock’s bones and joints were starting to hurt from the lack of nutrition. He needed help badly but he wasn't sure how to ask.


End file.
